Make War, Not Love
by God and the Fox
Summary: A series of unrelated one-shots of MorMor. Putting my media player on shuffle and writing fics based on what comes up. Ratings vary, but are specified at the beginning of each chapter, along with any trigger warnings. Chapter 3 - Hate Me by Blue October. Have some angst!
1. Snuff

**A/N: Based on "Snuff" by Slipknot**

"**Bury all your secrets in my skin.**

**Come away with innocence and leave me with my sins.**

**The air around me still feels like a cage**

**and love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again."**

**Rating: K**

**Trigger Warnings: None**

Their subordinates considered them to be boss and employee, titles which were technically correct. Moriarty supervised, handling business and money, while Sebastian handled...whatever Jim told him to. If those things happened to involve guns and a lot of bloodshed, it didn't change the fact that he was still, always, following Moriarty's orders. He knew better than to ever disobey, or botch a job. In that way, they were truly boss and employee.

Some of their more dim-witted clients considered the two of them to be partners. Moriarty never attended a business meeting without Sebastian present – both for protection and intimidation. The large man would make anyone reconsider any ill-conceived plans of betrayal. And contrary to what his looks might convey, Sebastian was an intelligent man, and could discuss business just as well as Jim could, when the need arose. Sometimes, when he didn't have the time, or just couldn't be bothered, Jim did send Sebastian to his meetings. So they may have been partners, in an odd sense.

Those who didn't know them even sometimes considered them friends. On the rare times that Moriarty could be bothered to eat, he and Sebastian dined together, usually in the fanciest restaurants in town. They never needed a reservation – Moriarty's name cleared half the patrons, anyway. The two spoke as though they were friends, asking for each other's opinions and advice, and sharing jokes (even if the jokes were a lot more morbid than what would be considered normal).

But no one ever considered the two of them to be lovers. They shared the same flat, and often the same bed, but 'lovers' just wasn't the right term. Lovers implied roses and anniversary presents, sticky notes on the fridge and goodnight kisses. Jim and Sebastian had none of those things. This wasn't love. This was destruction. This was bloody lips and broken jaws, screamed words and thrown knives stuck to the bedroom wall. They made war, not love, and it would probably eventually mean the death of both of them.

They may have been lovers in the broadest sense of the word, but really, it felt far more like hate.


	2. Till Death Do We Party

**A/N: Based on "'Til Death Do We Party" by Blood on The Dance Floor**

"**There's blood on the speakers**

**this is how it goes**

**this is how we roll."**

**Rating: T **

**Trigger Warnings: Violence (but really, you're reading MorMor, so...)**

For once, Jim Moriarty wasn't dressed in one of his beloved suits. Instead, he was settled into dark blue-jeans that hugged his arse and a black wife-beater which clung to his chest almost obscenely. Sebastian was wearing much the same, with the exception that his shirt was white. The two of them sat at the bar of a club downtown, both of them sipping at scotch. The bartender eyed them warily, but made no move to try to kick them out.

Jim turned to his partner with a slight smirk. "Hey, Sebby."

"Yeah, Boss?"

"I wanna dance."

Sebastian glanced at him sideways, unsure of the seriousness of the statement, but could tell from his expression that he was serious. "Alright." He stood from his stool and offered his hand to the smaller man.

Jim took the offered hand and jumped down from his own stool enthusiastically. "Let's go!" He took the lead, pulling Sebastian out onto the dance floor.

Sebastian stood there awkwardly, swaying slightly to the music. He rarely danced, but there was no way that he would deny Jim something that he wanted. He looked around at the other dancers and tried to mimic their movements, moving his hips to the beat. He moved awkwardly, and with his large frame, it looked all wrong.

Jim giggled, watching him. "Sebby, you're doing it all wrong."

Sebastian grunted. "Not much of a dancer."

Jim cooed at him softly. "S'alright. I can teach you."

"Er. I really don't think that's necessary."

Jim narrowed his eyes at his partner's disagreement, then smiled ferally. "I think I can change your mind."

Sebastian grimaced, but didn't protest any farther.

Jim turned his back to Sebastian and began moving his own body, moving his hips seductively and rubbing back against Sebastian. He ran his hands down the sides of his body, and leaned his head back so that his throat was bared to the sniper. Sebastian growled again, this time against Jim's ear.

Jim giggled, but when he spoke, his voice was deep. "Touch me, Sebby. Grind up against me. I want you to show me just how much you want to _fuck_ me."

Sebastian complied, grabbing Jim's hips and pulling him back flush against his growing arousal. He snapped his own hips forward, pressing himself up against Jim's arse in order to feel the friction he was craving. He moved his hand around to the front of Jim's jeans, rubbing his palm against Jim's groin, and the smaller man let out a breathy moan.

They danced for a few minutes before a man nearby walked up to Sebastian, ignoring Jim completely. He ran a hand across the sniper's chest, standing up on his tip-toes to come closer to the man's ear. "What do you say you ditch him and you and I get out of here?"

Jim smiled to himself, then spun around to face the two of them. While still moving to the music, he reached behind Sebastian and into the waistband of his pants, pulling out the loaded gun that he knew was kept there. He put it to the man's head and pulled the trigger without a word. Blood splattered across the floor and onto the speakers behind them, and the man fell back onto the floor. Jim tucked the gun back into Sebastian's waistband, then pulled the sniper flush against his skin again, still dancing.

People began screaming, terrified after the gunshot, and running out of the club. Jim pushed his arse hard against Sebastian's erection, and Sebastian growled.

"You know what violence does to me, Boss."

Jim looked back over his shoulder. "Yep."

Sebastian grabbed him around the waist. "Let's go."


	3. Hate Me

**A/N: Based on "Hate Me" by Blue October.**

"**And like a baby boy I never was a man**

**until I saw your blue eyes cry **

**and held your face in my hands**

**and then I fell down yelling 'make it go away'.**

**Just make a smile come back and shine**

**the way it used to be.**

**And then she whispered 'how could you do this to me?'**

**Italics are past, regular is present. **

**Rating: T**

**Trigger Warnings: Suicide**

xXx

_When Jim was five years old, he broke his younger brother's wrist. The toddler had snatched a book from his hand, and Jim grabbed the boy's wrist, twisting sharply until he heard a snap, and the book fell to the floor. Seth wailed, but Jim ignored him in favor of retrieving the book and irritably flipping through the pages, trying to find his lost place. Their father came running into the room to see what the commotion was._

_ "Jim, what happened?", he shouted as he saw the swelling already occurring on his youngest child's arm._

_ Jim kept reading as he answered. "I broke his wrist."_

_ "Why!" _

_ His father's voice was nearly hysterical, and Jim looked up from his book with a put-upon expression on his face. "He took my book."_

_ His father scooped the boy up into his arms, cradling the still crying child to his chest. "Jim, you can't do things like that!"_

_ He cocked his head slightly to the side. "Why not?"_

_ "Because it hurts him!"_

_ He had never understood why he was supposed to care. _

xXx

"Sebastian, get out!"

"What the fuck, Boss? I'm too tired for this shit." Seb had just gotten back from a job that had lasted all day, and he was exhausted. The last thing he had wanted was to come home to find Jim yelling at him.

"Get OUT!" A glass shattered as it hit the wall behind Sebastian's head.

Sebastian sighed wearily. "What did I do?"

"It doesn't matter. Just...go." Jim's voice was nearly a growl. He didn't want to talk about this, not now, now ever.

"Jim..."

His voice was low and even now, deadly calm. "Moran." He pulled a pistol from it's hiding place in his pants and leveled it at the sniper's head. "This is your last warning. Get. Out."

Sebastian stared at him. This wasn't the first time Jim had threatened his life, but tonight, he really just wasn't in the mood for it. Tonight, it was too much.

"Fine." He turned around and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Something deep inside of him broke, and he knew that this time, he wouldn't be coming back.

xXx

_"Hey, Sebby?" Jim looked up from the video game he was playing._

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "I want you to move in with me." When Sebastian didn't respond immediately, he continued talking. "You're here all the time anyway, and you'll be able to protect me better if you stay close. It's kind of silly to have a bodyguard who leaves me alone sometimes."_

_ Sebastian grunted in acknowledgment, his focus on the rifle and cleaning oil in his lap._

_ Jim frowned at the lack of attention, before continuing cheerily."I'll have someone move your things over tomorrow."_

_ Sebastian finally looked up at that. "I don't want one of your fucking lackeys messing with my stuff."_

_ Jim rolled his eyes. "It's not like there's anything valuable in your flat. You keep all your guns here."_

_ "I have a few at the flat", he protested._

_ "Not that you value", Jim shot back._

_ Sebastian shot his employer a half-hearted glare from the side. "Then maybe I have some things of sentimental value."_

_ "No you don't."_

_ "How the fuck would you know?" He was growing annoyed._

_ Jim idly clucked his tongue. "Because, Sebby, you're not the type to keep things that are sentimental."_

_ Sebastian stayed silent, not having an argument to that._

_ "Besides", Jim continued, "I searched your flat before, and it was all boring."_

_ "You WHAT?" The sniper exploded._

_ "You know I hate repeating myself, Seb."_

_ "Why the fuck would you think it's okay to search my flat? That's personal, you fucker."_

_ "It was early in your employment. I had to make sure that you weren't hiding anything from me."_

_ He sighed to himself, knowing that it was futile to protest. "What did you find?"_

_ "Exactly what I expected."_

_ Sebastian rolled his eyes. He didn't know what other answer he had been expecting._

_ The conversation lulled to a stop, and the two of them went back to their respective activities. It was a few minutes later before Sebastian spoke again, not looking up._

_ "I'll bring my stuff over first thing in the morning."_

_ Jim smiled to himself._

xXx

It was 3:30 am and Jim sat alone at his kitchen table sipping at coffee that had gone cold an hour ago. He knew that his fit of temper earlier that day had been unfounded, and he was waiting up for Sebastian to come back home. He had tried to call him, but he had turned his cellphone off. The immediate answer of the voicemail hadn't surprised him; Sebastian always turned his phone off when they had a fight. He would just have to wait until he came home on his own.

He glanced down at the papers scattered all over the table-top – some blond woman whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember wanted someone to kill her husband, and she had left him with all the information he would need to track him down. He had the addresses of the hotels the man stayed at, the restaurants where he ate, even where he took his kids to the park. The man wasn't trying to keep his whereabouts a secret at all. Jim hated people who left paper trails. They made things far too boring for him, and it was so easy to get to them. Jim made sure that he always trained his men to be smarter than that. All of them knew better. Of course, there was only one that was on his mind. Only one that mattered.

Sebastian never left a paper trail.

xXx

_The two lay curled up in Jim's bed together, both of the drifting in a post-coital haze. Sebastian's larger frame was curled around Jim, and the smaller man hummed contentedly to himself. He always slept better like this, held tight in the sniper's arms. It was a good thing, since they slept this way almost always, now. He couldn't remember the last time he had had to sleep alone. He smiled at the thought, ignoring the implications and letting himself fall farther into sleep._

_ Sebastian, equally happy, let out a breath against the top of Jim's head. "Goodnight, Jim."_

_ Jim, already asleep, cuddled closer into him in response._

xXx

Jim woke up at 10 am the next morning and immediately knew that Sebastian wasn't home. He could always tell when his lover was in the flat, and now it was too empty, too silent. He stood up from the kitchen chair where he had fallen asleep and stretched out his tired muscles before prowling through the flat. Sebastian had always come home by now – he never stayed out all night, no matter what Jim did. He picked up his phone and dialed Seb's number idly.

A beep answered him, and a polite voice told him that the number had been disconnected. Jim took the phone away from his ear and looked down at it. He knew in that moment that something was horribly wrong. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he went into Sebastian's room. Just as he had feared, the room was completely bare. The drawers were emptied, left standing open, and even the pillow had been taken from the bed. His chest ached. With shaky hands he opened the closet doors where Seb kept his guns. That was the one thing that he would never leave behind. It was empty. He closed the doors with a shuddering breath.

As he sat down on the bed, he silently berated himself. How had this happened? How had he come to _care?_ He had never experienced that before. No one had ever mattered. They had all always been expendable, no matter what. So why was it different now? Why did tears prickle at the back of his eyes as he realized that Sebastian was really never coming back? He felt a scream try to claw it's way out of his throat. Why did he _love _him? Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

xXx

_Jim sat in an undignified heap on his bedroom floor, rocking back and forth. The gun pressed to his temple was cold, but he didn't care, pressing it harder against his skin._

_ Sebastian stood in the doorway, taking in the situation. "Boss?" Jim looked up at him with wide eyes, and Sebastian immediately corrected himself – this wasn't Moriarty, the mastermind who ran London's biggest criminal organization; this was a man, a boy, who was hurt. "James."_

_ Jim stared back at him with glassy eyes. "Sebby. Sebby, I can't. It's too...it's too much." His voice shook._

_ "Okay now, just calm down." Sebastian immediately fell into the comforting role, used to this __situation by now._

_ Jim shook his head feverishly. "No, I can't. I can't do it anymore."_

_ "It's okay, James." His voice was soft and soothing. "It's alright. Just put down the gun, yeah?"_

_ Tears threatened to spill over and Jim's lip quivered. He cocked the gun. "Seb. My Sebby." He giggled, a single tear making it's way down his cheek. "I made a mistake."_

_ Sebastian cautiously took a few slow steps toward his employer. When Jim didn't try to stop him, Sebastian answered, trying to keep him distracted."What's that?"_

_ Jim giggled again, hysterical, nearly choking in the process. "I think I love you."_

_ Sebastian froze mid-step, staring at him wide-eyed for just a moment before traveling the few more steps toward him and taking the gun from his hand. Wordlessly, he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pulling him into his chest. He rubbed Jim's back and played with his hair until he fell asleep._

xXx

Jim changed the locks.


End file.
